


Your smile is the fire that kills me

by simplylalaa



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Dialing, F/M, Peraltiago, Pining, Pre-Relationship, amy santiago - Freeform, b99 - Freeform, jake peralta - Freeform, pining!jake, teddy wells - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplylalaa/pseuds/simplylalaa
Summary: In which pining!Jake drunk dials Amy the night he solves the unsolvable case (season 1 ep 21). Angst ensues.





	Your smile is the fire that kills me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess I have no idea where I was going with this but here we are. (this is what happens from binge reading @elsaclack’s B99 fanfic and rewatching all of season 1 instead of writing personal statements and dealing with my responsibilities)
> 
> Originally posted on my Tumblr acc (@simplylalaa)

Jake Peralta always knew Amy Santiago was beautiful, even before he knew he had feelings for her. It was just fact— an obvious, blinding fact. And, God, was she beautiful.

Her smile— her real smile, not her polite, work appropriate amount of expressiveness smile— was brighter than the sun. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown he’d ever seen, and they always twinkled when she laughed. Her dark hair, often pulled back into a tight bun or ponytail, was so shiny. It was soft too, a fact he had learned one night two years ago after they cracked a particularly rough case and went to the bar to celebrate after. She got so drunk she threw up on the sidewalk while they were trying to catch their cabs. Her hair was down that day, and while he himself was nowhere near sober, he instinctively went to hold her hair back. It was even softer than it looked, and he didn’t want to let go once she finally stopped puking.

Now he watches watches her from across the bar as she leans into Teddy, her hand placed on his shoulder and her head tilted back as she laughs at something he’s said. That same dark, soft hair he had once held between his fingers falling across her shoulders with the movement.

Jake can’t help the bitter taste that rises in his mouth from the sight.

What does she even see in Teddy? Sure, he memorizes police codes for fun and he’s responsible and probably doesn’t have crushing debt— but why _him_?

Jake can memorize more police codes if he wanted (he doesn’t). Jake can be responsible (sometimes). And the crushing debt is getting better (marginally).

He sits alone in his self loathing and jealousy, but then Terry comes over, and he can see the pity in Terry’s eyes as he realizes why Jake is so unsatisfied by his solving of the unsolvable case. The pity from the realization that Jake wants to be the one over there with Santiago’s hand on his arm.

And, oh, how bad Jake wants to be that guy. The guy who gets to be the cause of that bright smile, the one that makes his heart stutter when it’s directed at him. He wants to be the only guy that can make her laugh, even after she’s had a bad day. The guy that gets to thread his fingers through those silky dark waves as he kisses her.

But then him and Terry get drunk, and it helps for a bit. It helps him forget, if only for a little, that he can’t be that guy for Amy. Forget that Teddy gets to be that guy. Forget the dull ache in his chest because of everything that he can’t be for her.

But then it doesn’t help anymore, and his self loathing is back and more intense than before. And he finds himself alone in his apartment, sitting on his couch with yet another beer in his hand. His phone is in the other, his thumb perpetually hovering over her name in his contacts.

He knows he shouldn’t call her, especially not in the state he’s in. He has no right, it’s not his place. But the small part of his mind that is still thinking rationally is not strong enough to keep his thumb from pressing down on that button; a more primal part of his brain too desperate to hear her voice.

“Hello?” A groggy sounding Amy answers after a few rings.

Immediately, his heart does a somersault at the sound of her voice.

“Santiagooo! Amy Santiago!” Jake slurs into his phone.

“Jake,” she sounds a little more alert now. “What is going on?”

“Your smile,” he hiccups, as he lies down sideways on his couch. “It kills me.”

It’s silent on the other end of the phone, and for a second he’s scared she hung up.

“It’s so beautiful, like— like the sun!” He continues. “All of you is beautiful.”

It’s silent for a few more moments before she finally responds. “You’re drunk.” She whispers.

“Hellz yeah! You know me so well, Ames. You— you know me.”

He hears her gentle sigh through the phone as well as some shuffling, most likely from her shifting in her bed. His entire body floods with heat as he imagines her in bed— as he imagines himself there with her, holding her in his arms.

“I do know you, Peralta. And I also know you’re inebriated, calling me at 3 am, mumbling nonsense.”

“Mmm,” he hums, shutting his eyes, suddenly feeling so sleepy. “Your voice is nice. So soft.”

She chuckles, and he can picture her rolling those beautiful twinkling eyes. “You need to go to sleep, Jake.”

“M’kay. Smort. G’nite, Ames.”

There’s a mother pause of silence before she whispers, “Goodnight, Jake.”

And then there’s a click, and the line has gone silent. And Jake falls asleep with a smile on his face, thinking of Amy and her soft voice and smooth hair and smile that’s brighter than the sun.


End file.
